


red, hot, and dangerous

by bleuboxes



Series: hell's kitchen angel [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, F/M, Mentions of Voldemort, Romance, Vigilante Ginny Weasley, dumpsters, if u blink, loosely based of of marvel's daredevil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: If things were different, and she wasn’t a vigilante with super-human powers, if she was just a normal woman, a normal lawyer – maybe she wouldn’t kick herself in the ass for thinking he’s the handsomest man she’s ever seen.But she is a vigilante, so she is kicking herself.





	red, hot, and dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> im re-reading harry potter and realized that i'm really fuckin gay for ginny, and that ginny's fucking in love with harry and i was like,,,,,, uhhhhh,,,,, we gotta fucking write something for these two losers.
> 
>  
> 
> so here we are.
> 
> not sure how i feel about it but i've been working on this since like, noon, so yeah.  
> title is from the song hell's kitchen angel by MAX.

There’s a reason why Ginny Weasley’s laying bloody and half dead in a dumpster in Hell's Kitchen. And, _yes_ , it is becomes some asshole threw her off the roof. She can hear him now, panting heavily as his getaway car speeds off, telling the driver to punch it because he doesn’t trust that the fall maimed the vigilante nearly enough.

Ginny tries to shift and sit up, but she’s in too much pain to even entertain the thought of moving, and instead, she lets out a low groan. She inhales and tries to ignore the shooting pain in her chest. She’s able to move her legs, though. Her knees are bruised and scraped, and her ankle is definitely broken.

This is not good.

There’s no way Neville and Luna are going to believe that she’s this much of a klutz tomorrow in the office.

“ _Shit!”_ she yells, frustrated. Her whole-body aches with agony, and it doesn’t help that she’s lying in garbage – and oh, wait she’s also got a stab wound.

She continues to lie down, looking at the window of the starless sky between the buildings for just a few moments before summoning all her strength and sitting up. Between her outbursts of shouting and swearing, it’s a miracle the whole city block isn’t awake. She’s focusing on getting out of this godforsaken dumpster above all else – her mind’s not even bothering to think how the fuck she’s going to get back to her apartment without bleeding to death or just not being able to move her broken body.

That’s when she hears it: there’s someone coming. She swears quietly again; she’s in no state to fight anyone at the moment – but she refuses to die in this dumpster, so she musters all the energy left in her and climbs out of the trash.

The intense pain that her entire being is ingulfed in distracts her from the noise, and when she collapses on the street of the alleyway, she’s surprised to see the kind looking face of a man standing over her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She’s not sure how long she passed out for, but when she wakes up, she’s on someone’s couch. She’s no longer in her uniform (but she's still got on her mask), instead in a loose-fitting tee-shirt and boxers, there’s ice on her ribs, her ankle’s wrapped, and she’s pretty sure the stab wound has been stitched back together. The kindness is appreciated, but she needs to get out of here. Her uniform is neatly folded on the coffee table in the middle of the floor, next to some ibuprofen and a tall glass of water (and a note, which she disregards). She takes a dose of the pain meds and downs the glass of water in record time before she grabs her uniform and begins to trudge out of the apartment and back home.

How she makes it back to her place without dying? She’s not sure herself. None of that matters now that she's plopped herself on to her bed (making sure to be upright to that her ribs don’t get fucked up even more) and promptly falls asleep.

Hopefully her body will be a little less broken and painful in the morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day comes with more pain meds, cigarette pants, and disbelieving looks from Luna and Neville at the office. Ginny just flips them both off when they tell her to cut the shit. Luna makes terrible coffee, complains about how they need a new copier, printer, and fax machine (despite not being able to afford any of those things). They deal with the cases they’re handling and when they’ve got spare time, they continue to investigate Union Allied. Ginny’s back to being the definition of perfect health in no time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ginny finds herself in the dumpster _yet again_ , except this time, it’s not because she fell into it. She’s dragged herself from about half a block away to the place where she got stitched up when she fell off a building. If the guy didn’t bring her to the hospital the last time, he probably won’t do it this time, so this is her only reliable place of recuperation.

The only issue is that she doesn’t know which apartment he resides in. She makes a great deal of noise clanking around the dumpster, hoping that he’ll hear her (so that he’ll be able to take the bullet out of her thigh).

Luck (for once in her life) seems to be on her side.  She can hear the grinding of metal as a door unlocks, the squeak of the hinges as it opens and closes, the pitter-patter of footsteps down the hall and the stairs, the exasperated breaths as he walks toward the dumpster, the thumping of his heart as he comes closer.

She’s sitting with her back against the metal of the dumpster when he reaches her. He’s got a look on his face – something between amusement and concern – that almost makes her feel bad for bothering him.

Then she remembers the bullet in her leg and she doesn’t feel so bad.

“I got shot.” She says, not bothering to disguise her voice.

“I can see that.” He snarks back.

“I know you patched me up when I fell off the building.”

“You did more than fall off the building.”

“I mean, _yeah,_ I did, but falling off a building into a dumpster is a life altering event, so pardon me if that’s the highlight of the night.” She explains.

“I don’t even want to know.” He mutters, running his hand through his already tussled hair. He looks like he’s on the verge of a thought, but Ginny cuts him off.

“Are you gonna help me or am I gonna have to get the fucking thing outta my leg myself?”

“Fine, _fine_ – here, I’ll help you up.”

He gets closer to her and helps he to his feet. She was able to get a better look at his face – and while his glasses shield his eyes, she can pinpoint the shades of green that make up his eyes (emerald, spearmint, maybe a nice grassy green), she can see the clusters of tiny freckles that dust his cheeks and nose, the intricate scar placed on his forehead, the splits and cracks in his chapped lips.

Time stands still while she looks at him’ she realizes that she’s been staring and looks away bashfully. He too seems embarrassed, but quickly gets over himself. As he walks her up to his apartment, Ginny can’t help but contemplate the recent happenings of her life.

If things were different, and she wasn’t a vigilante with super-human powers, if she was just a _normal_ woman, a _normal_ lawyer – maybe she wouldn’t kick herself in the ass for thinking he’s the handsomest man she’s ever seen.

But she _is_ a vigilante, so she is kicking herself.

Nevertheless, they make it to the apartment. She led to the couch and takes a few minutes to relax while he grabs the stuff he’s going to need. He comes back, first aid kit in hand.

He carefully explains what he’s going to do before he does it, which Ginny finds endearing (even though she’s pretty sure this is standard medical procedure.)

“Just get on with it.”

And he does. It hurts like hell, and takes more than a quick minute, but he eventually gets the bullet out of her leg, cleans the wound, and dresses it. His hands are delicate and unwavering through out the whole process.

He gives her directions for changing the bandage, what to do if it gets infected, even offers to give her a lift home (if she needed one).

She leaves with a _thank you_ and makes a mental note of the apartment number before slipping off into the night again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ginny keeps getting injured, and she keeps going back to his apartment. He always fixes her up. He never asks of what she was doing, never takes off her mask, never asks for her name, and always asks if she needs a ride home.

He’s got a picture of his parents on the mantle – trinkets and books litter the room she consistently finds herself in. There are handmade blankets draped across the couches, and a pile of newspapers on the coffee table. Ginny sometimes feels guilty for bringing in her whirlwind of chaos to the calm and homey environment of the place.

On top of that, he’s a gentleman and a sweetheart and she desperately wishes she wasn’t so fond of him.

(And he’s a right good flirt, which doesn’t help her case _at all_.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After a while he suggests that it might be a good idea to forgo wearing the exercise gear and get a uniform that would do more service in the protection department. Ginny tells him to _fuck off_   but goes about getting the armor anyway.

The news media has been going about calling her the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, so she makes sure the guy that’s making her armor plays into that. (He’s happy to oblige).

Her armor ends up being a deep red  – the helmet part has Ginny laughing; she’s really going to be living up to her newly christened name, it seems. Not only that, but it’s breathable and almost bulletproof, so she really couldn’t ask for better.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The next time she’s in dumpster guy’s apartment, she’s got a broken wrist and a nice slice on her cheek. It’s the first time he’s seen the new uniform. It’s more practical than sexy looking, but he can still see him take a gulp before commenting anything. Ginny’s only a little bit satisfied that she has that kind of effect on him.

“Well?” she asks, motioning towards her get-up.

“Nice ears.” He says, straight faced.

“They’re horns, asshole.”

He just smirks, the _absolute_ bastard.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The only thing that’s worse than the Russian mafia and Tom Riddle are her mother’s mandatory family gatherings. Ginny loves her family, really, she does, but she really isn’t a fan of being ridiculed for putting her career before a relationship.

Not only that but her mother always seems to forget that Ginny’s bisexual when she talks about settling down with someone.

Ginny’s usually able to get out of these types of things (or has Neville or Luna make up some sort of excuse as to why Ginny can’t attend).

But this time, it’s Christmas and she’s not been to the past few dinners, which is why Ginny finds herself on the porch of her mother’s house holding maybe the world’s biggest bag of cheap Christmas gifts. She can hear the hustle and bustle inside – all her brothers, their respective partners and children – her mother fussing at the stove (and yelling for Ron to get the door).

Ron lets her in the house, gives her a hug, and introduces her to his girlfriend, Hermione. He starts going on about how they met, but Ginny isn’t really paying attention, because it’s him; he’s here.

She’s really only ever seen him in his night clothes, never like this – white button-down, slacks, and a pair of antlers on his head entertaining her little niece. Ginny doesn’t think she’s ever been this attracted to someone more in her entire life.

Ron has seemed to notice that Ginny isn’t listening to a single word he’s been saying and tries to find exactly what it is that she’s looking at so intently. It’s Hermione who points out subtly that she’s staring at the guy in the antlers, and Ron, the asshole, turns to his sister and manically grins. Ginny won’t let Ron get the satisfaction of humiliating her, so she initiates the discussion.

“Who’s that?” she points over to him.

“Oh,” interjects Hermione, “That’s Harry Potter– he’s a friend of ours; he mentioned to Ron that he didn’t have any plans for Christmas so Ron invited him here. I could… introduce you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” Smiles Ginny. The two women leave Ron behind to venture to Harry. Ginny’s heart is beating out of her chest, but everything else is painfully quiet.

“Harry, this is Ron’s sister, Ginny.” He looks up from the little girl, who’s reaching for the glasses so perfectly perched upon his nose.

“Hi.” He says, his voice more full of life than she’s ever heard.

“Hi.” She replies. She watches his pupils get larger. He’s not an idiot, and while Ginny should be scolding herself for being careless and not disguising her voice, she can’t find it within herself to care. She smiles brightly, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I can take her, if you want.” Suggests Hermione, and Harry gladly hands her the child. Ginny almost laughs.

Ginny sits down next to him on the couch and attempts to talk.

And they do.

He’s a nurse - works at the same hospital has Hermione. He speaks of his parents and his uncle’s shenanigans, his favorite color (which is red; Ginny isn’t sure what to think, but his smirk tells her all she needs to know), his favorite book, how Ron never seems to stop talking about his younger sister, and just plain nonsense.

In return, Ginny tells tales of her brothers, of her job as a lawyer, her friends, and how she’s enthralled with the multiverse theory and comic books.

Ginny finds that she’s somehow gotten closer to him while they’ve been talking. She knew this already, but he’s sarcastic and witty and just about ready to charm the pants off her when George comes in and shouts that it's time to eat.

They sit across from each other at the table; her mother interrogates her about her lack of a beau, and she can hear Ron kick Harry under the table.

The food is eaten, the kitchen is cleaned, then the gifts are exchanged. Ginny again, manages to sit besides Harry until Ron butts in like the fucking asshole that he is and sits right between them.

Hermione might be just as mad as Ginny, at this point.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nevertheless, by then end of the night, she’s in the apartment she knows so well, stark naked and quite possibly having the best sex of her life.

If he didn’t know she was the woman he kept patching up on his couch at her mother’s house, he sure does now. Constellations of scars littler her body, and she’s sure he’s familiar with at least a few of them.

He says her name like it’s a prayer, kisses the freckles on her thighs like they’re not weapons, touches her like she’s fragile instead of war-torn and weaponized. He lets her know she’s beautiful every chance he gets - the red hair, the brown eyes, the split lips, the scars, and the freckles – all of it; he worships her.

Ginny’s never felt like this before.

Either way, he’s rather familiar with her body, and well, she isn’t complaining when she wakes up the next morning with pleasant aches and bruises for once.

She can hear him in the kitchen, hear the sizzle of eggs, hear his heart beating – he’s relaxed, happy almost. It’s domesticity like she hasn’t had in a long time.

She finds a finds her underwear and a tee-shirt of his on the floor and puts them on before making her way to the kitchen.

He’s got eggs and toast done when she enters; he hands her a cup of coffee. It’s relatively quiet while they eat. Ginny can hear the neighbor’s TV, but she tries her best to tune it out. He flirts with her a bit more, but not once does he bother to ask about her identity, about how they aren’t really strangers.

She tells herself she isn’t disappointed when she makes her way back to her apartment, but she’s never been one to lie to herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She doesn’t see much of him in the upcoming weeks, the suit's really been doing its job, and she’s been careful to not get too injured. Luna and Neville might be on her trail, and the last thing she wants is for them to know and worry and scold her about how reckless and fucking noble she’s being. On top of that, Ron keeps trying to set her up with Harry Potter like the idiot brother he is.

Between that, cases, and everything with Riddle, Union Allied, and Luna being a down-low informant for the newspaper, Ginny’s life has been even more chaotic than she's ever imagined.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s about two weeks later when she gets shot in the head and her helmet cracks down the middle. She’s pretty sure she’s got a concussion to add to her list of probably almost fatal injuries at this point, and while she’s been avoiding going to Harry’s, she really doesn’t think she’s got much choice in the matter.

She sneaks in through the fire escape, careful not to make too much noise, but he’s up and seems to be waiting for her.

“I think I have a concussion.”

He ushers her to the couch where she lies down. There’s something different about him this time – not because they had sex, not because she hasn’t seen him in about a month, not because he knows who she is – but something else. Something intimate; there’s something in the expression on his face, something similar to worry, and now that she’s thinking about it, his heartbeat’s not as it usually sounds – it’s frantic.

“I’m gonna have to take your mask off.” He says quietly.

This is it.

“Harry,” she whispers, “do what you need to do.”

He nods, and gently pulls the cracked thing off her head. He checks to make sure her skull's not fractured or broken or something (it’s not, she’s just got a few really good cuts). He does some other stuff and confirms that she definitely has a concussion.

“How’d this even happen?” he asks while dealing with a particularly deep slash in her leg.

“Shot to the head.” She says lazily.

He says nothing. She can hear the beat of his heart, the sound of police sirens a few blocks away, the sound of a child crying, the screeching of brakes, and a million other noises that are distracting her from what’s happening to her right now.

“I wish you’d be more careful, Ginny.” He admits. She doesn’t think she’s supposed to hear his confession, but she does. She looks at his face – specs pushed to the tip of his nose as his looks keenly at his hands. His cheeks are flush with color, but Ginny can’t help but look at his lips.

She reaches out to grab his hand, and he looks up. She can see the vulnerability in the greens of his eyes. Ginny pulls him closer to her, then kisses him.

She’s kissed him before, sure, but this time it’s different. This time it’s a promise, an oath. It’s gentle and lovely, full of things that one can only feel, not express.

He leans her forehead against her own, eyes closed, and whispers, “ _Promise_ you’ll be more careful, _please_.”

“I can’t do that. You _know_   I can’t do that.” She confesses, “But I’ll be here when I’m hurt, and I’ll try not to be so reckless.”

She knows he wants to argue – she can hear it, but he accepts it. He squeezes her hand tighter, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it.

There are so many things that she wants to say, but he understands.

They’re in this together now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully i'll be adding more to this little universe.
> 
> in the mean time, comments/kudos are the bee's knees.


End file.
